


Eternity

by Sarbear08



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has a filthy mouth, Crack, Crowley accidentally gets high, Crowley smells with his tongue, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), I’m not sorry for this, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Plot What Plot, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Sorry Not Sorry, and Crowley likes it, no really there's no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarbear08/pseuds/Sarbear08
Summary: “Crowley, what on earth has gotten into you?” Aziraphale asked.Crowley stepped forward, his fingers fumbling with the pearlescent shirt buttons as he spoke. “It’s so hot in here–”“Yes, but Crowley–” Aziraphale swatted at the demon’s hands, “–why are you unbuttoning my shirt?”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 236





	Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is but I’m not sorry for it.

We begin our story in a small, cozy bookshop in the heart of Soho, in a not-so-apocalyptic future, thanks to a particular angel, demon, and eleven year-old boy, who is now undoubtedly completely and utterly human—mostly.

The bell sang merrily as the door of the bookshop swung open, announcing the entrance of a new perspective customer. Aziraphale shut the book he’d been reading—it was his fifth time reading said book—and let out an exasperated sigh. He’d hoped there would be no more customers for the rest of the day. He was eternally grateful to Adam for restoring his bookshop to its former glory and then some, but he selfishly wished that the same would not be true for his customers. Though he would never admit it, he had most certainly used an alarming number of threats to ensure none of his books were ever actually sold. Such a shame, he thought idly, that Adam had remembered to restore the lives of all his more persistent customers. He was sure most would have gone to Heaven, anyways. They would have been in a better place, really, with access to all the books they could ever want. Just not _his_ books. He could–

“Excuse me, sir?” said a voice from behind Aziraphale’s chair.

The angel turned, mustering his best ‘go away and please don’t come back again’ look on his face. Oh, if only Gabriel could see him now: using _miracles_ to withhold all this knowledge from the humans. It would probably be better off in more capable hands anyhow­—his _own_ angelic hands.

“How can I help you?” Aziraphale asked the man.

“I’d like to– Why I’d like to– I–” the man stuttered, lowering the book he’d been holding onto the desk with a _thunk_ that echoed throughout the shop. Aziraphale flinched.

“Yes?” the angel pressed.

“I came in here for– My,” the man chuckled in embarrassment. “I seem to have forgotten.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said impatiently.

“I– Perhaps I’ll just take a look around. Maybe jog my memory,” the man said, turning and wandering off towards the nearest shelf of books.

Aziraphale huffed irritatedly. Humans were such fickle creatures.

“Milk!” the man shouted from behind a stack of books. “I forgot to pick up the milk!”

He strode towards the door of the bookshop and paused with his hand hovering just above the handle. The angel nearly leapt out of his chair and shoved the man out of the store himself.

The man glanced at Aziraphale, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, clearly trying to remember whatever it was that he couldn’t remember. Aziraphale smiled politely. The man blinked a few times before leaving, now thoroughly dazedly confused, yet sure enough that he was in desperate need of milk.

Aziraphale popped out of his chair and scrambled to turn the sign that hung on the door to read ‘closed.’ He let out a contented sigh before heading back to his desk to continue his rudely interrupted reading. He thought he might like some tea as he read, and in the kitchen, the kettle turned itself on.

Once his tea was ready, he settled back in at his desk. He figured he might be able to finish his book before sunrise if he started straight away. He opened the pages with a tremendous amount of care to where he’d been reading earlier. The angel was soon swept away in the words, seemingly drifting off to another land entirely.

Aziraphale was harshly thrown back into reality when the bell of his shop jingled.

“Bugger,” the angel muttered under his breath. “We’re closed!” he shouted into the dark expanse of the shop.

No response.

“He– Hello?”

“Angel!” came a sing-song voice and moments later, Crowley appeared at Aziraphale’s side, peering over his shoulder. “Whatcha’ reading?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his non-existent heart beating slightly faster, and his smile even brighter than the one he’d worn whilst reading his book—it was an incredibly good book, too.

“Whatcha’ reading, Angel?” Crowley said again, his cheek brushing against Aziraphale’s as he leaned further down to where the book rested on the wooden desk.

Aziraphale nearly discorporated.

“Well?” Crowley asked.

“A– A book,” Aziraphale answered, now well and truly flustered.

“Interesting,” Crowley said, standing up and wandering through the bookshop, leaving Aziraphale’s cheek oddly cold.

“What are you doing here, Crowley?”

“I’m here, yes,” the demon responded, dragging a finger down a row of spines.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I can see that.”

“You lot do have good eyesight, don’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Eyes,” Crowley repeated, taking off his glasses and pointing at his own yellow serpentine eyes.

“Well yes, I suppose we do,” Aziraphale said slowly.

“Then why do you wear these?” Crowley asked, sauntering alarmingly fast towards the angel. Before Aziraphale knew it, Crowley had reached down and gently pulled the reading glasses from his face, laying them with care on the desk. “Look much better without them,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale made a small squeaking noise that—thankfully­—Crowley didn’t seem to hear, as he turned and wandered off deeper into the bookshop.

Aziraphale stood and followed the demon through the copious shelves of books. “Are you quite alright, Crowley?”

“Mmm? Oh yes. I feel– Marvelous.”

“Marvelous,” echoed the angel.

“’S what I said.” Crowley wiped at his brow.

The bell jingled, announcing the arrival of yet another unwanted customer.

“Good _Lord,_ we’re closed!” Aziraphale shouted at– “Adam? Are you alright? Run into any trouble?”

“Oh no, nothing like that at all,” the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness—but is now known simply as Adam—responded.

“Then what are you doing here? Do your parents know where you are?”

“Nah. I didn’t travel here in a…human fashion,” said Adam.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. Although Adam was no longer the son of Satan Himself, the universe had taken quite a liking to him. This meant that She allowed him to bend Her will at a moments notice; he still had access to his powers—minus the demonic, world-ending ones, of course.

“Anyway,” said Adam, wandering off through the shop, “I just came to see how you were liking your new books.”

“Oh– Splendid. Very…” Aziraphale struggled to find the right word. “–Interesting,” he settled on.

“Good,” Adam said, clearly pleased with himself. “And your other books?”

“All in tip-top shape. They look just as though I’d cleaned them with my own hands.” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers.

“Nice hands Angel,” Crowley cut in, his eyes suddenly darkening to a dangerous, deep golden hue. “Bet they’d look better wrapped around my–”

“BIBLE. Around my bible,” Aziraphale said, quickly cutting the demon off.

“Mr. Anthony, sir,” said Adam, “I didn’t realize you were holy.”

“Adam,” Crowley drawled, never breaking eye contact with the angel. “Nothing I do is holy.”

Aziraphale gulped audibly. “Crowley there are _children_ here,” he chastised.

“Just the one,” the demon retorted.

Aziraphale swallowed nervously before turning back to Adam. “Thank you for dropping by, but perhaps it’s best if you go. Don’t want your parents to worry, do we?”

“’Course not,” Adam said, giving Crowley a sidelong glance. “G’night.”

“Good night, Adam,” Aziraphale said, making sure the door was locked after him. “Would you like some tea? I just made s–” Aziraphale was interrupted by Crowley flapping the sides of his jacket. “What are y–”

“’S not summer, is it?” Crowley asked.

“Crowley, what on earth has gotten into you?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley stepped forward, his fingers fumbling with the pearlescent shirt buttons as he spoke. “It’s so hot in here–”

“Yes, but Crowley–” Aziraphale swatted at the demon’s hands, “–why are you unbuttoning _my_ shirt?”

Crowley froze in place as if the ice age itself had just swept over him, utter mortification etched into his demonically handsome features.

“Shit,” he mumbled almost inaudibly. “Shitshit _shit_.”

“Well, really. There is absolutely no need for that kind of language,” the angel admonished.

“Right. Sorry. Demon. Me,” Crowley stuttered, gesturing vaguely to himself, as if that were explanation enough for his peculiar behavior.

“Really, Crowley, are you quite well? You look awfully pal– well paler than usual, I suppose.”

“Mmm. ‘M hot,” he said, staring off into the distance­—at what, Aziraphale wasn’t too sure.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed exasperatedly, stepping forwards and placing a hand on the demon’s forehead.

Though neither party would admit such, they both become acutely aware of just how close they suddenly found themselves to one another.

“Ngk,” Crowley said before uttering a string of nonsensical syllables. Aziraphale found it quite endearing, though he’d just as soon pluck all the feathers from his wings one by one than tell Crowley as much.

“You’re hot, dear.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley purred. “Why thank you. I never knew you felt that way about me.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed until he was about as red as a ripe tomato. “That’s not what I meant,” the angel said with a weak chuckle.

“Mmm,” said Crowley noncommittally.

“Simply meant that you’re burning up,” Aziraphale corrected.

“I’m on fire, you mean.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Crowley spun around—it was more of an octagon than anything resembling a circular shape—before landing in a less-than-graceful pose. With one hip popped out to the side and his arms spread wide in some form of flourish, he looked more like an ill mongoose than anything else. Aziraphale decided he was an adorable mongoose, though.

“Crowley, you’re not well,” the angel insisted. “You should go to bed.”

Crowley’s eyes brightened until they could have been mistaken for the sun itself. “Angel, you want to take me to bed? It’s about _bloody_ time.”

“What?!” Aziraphale yelped. “No– I– Well I– Didn’t mean– _Crowley_.” Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to compose himself. “Crowley, you’re not well. You don’t know what you’re saying. I–”

“I do.”

“Pardon?”

“I do know,” Crowley said, his voice suddenly filled with genuine fervor.

“Crowley, you can’t be serious,” Aziraphale said. Though the angel seemed somewhat composed, in reality, he was about two seconds away from uttering a lengthy string of extremely non-angelic words.

The demon’s face softened into an expression so sincere, Aziraphale was concerned he might turn to dust and blow away—demons were not meant to show any sort of vulnerability or affection, after all.

“I really do know what I’m saying, Angel,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale blinked. “Right then. You’re still not well, though. I really do insist you lie down.”

“Ngh– Alright Angel,” Crowley agreed and sauntered towards the old couch in the back room of the bookshop—at least he _thought_ he was sauntering. Aziraphale thought he looked more like a slightly drunken monkey, though he didn’t say so. It would have been rude, and Aziraphale was anything but.

“Crowley,” the angel let out an exasperated sigh. “You can’t sleep on the couch.”

“Why not?”

“It’s far too small, you’ll never fit comfortably,” the angel said, gesturing to the length of Crowley’s lithe frame.

“Ah,” Crowley said.

“You could– Um– Please, use my bed,” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up so quickly, they nearly flew clean off his forehead.

“Angel?” he managed to squeak out.

“It’s fine, Crowley. You need to sleep off whatever… _this_ is.”

When Crowley made no move to follow Aziraphale up the stairs of the bookshop, the angel took his hand and gently pulled him along until they reached Aziraphale’s bedroom.

Crowley had never been upstairs in the bookshop before, and he’d especially _never_ been in Aziraphale’s bedroom before. In fact, he wasn’t even sure the angel _had_ a bedroom in the first place; he never seemed to sleep. Sleeping was more Crowley’s thing, and he’d had plenty off blissful rest over the years—something that was quite difficult to come across in Hell, if you wanted to survive, that is.

Aziraphale’s extra large bed looked pleasantly soft, and the white abundance of cushions laid with care across the bed reminded Crowley of the clouds. Perhaps that was why the angel had decorated in such a way; he wanted to be reminded of home—though Heaven had never really felt like much of a home to either of them, it was all Aziraphale had ever known. Until he met Crowley, that is.

Aziraphale set to work clearing the bed of the decorative pillows and placing them purposefully on the floor next to the bed. He threw back the covers for the demon, and turned to find Crowley standing at the foot of the bed as still as a statue, golden eyes wide and unblinking.

Why was Crowley just standing there and why was he staring at him like that and _oh,_ Aziraphale realized with a start. Crowley was waiting for _permission._

“Go ahead,” Aziraphale gestured towards the bed. “Make yourself at home.” And Crowley did just that, crawling under the covers and wrapping them tightly around himself, as if they’d be able to shield him from the world, if necessary.

Aziraphale turned to go, figuring the demon would want some privacy while he rested, but a demonic hand wrapped around his and held fast.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, looking into the demon’s widened golden eyes.

“Please. Don’t go yet,” he pleaded. And so Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the bed, hand still wrapped in Crowley’s—the demon had no intention of letting go anytime soon. Or ever, really.

“Assssiraphale,” Crowley hissed affectionately.

“Yes dear, I’m here,” Aziraphale answered, tentatively running a hand through the demon’s fiery hair because it seemed like the proper thing to do in the moment.

“Mmm. ‘S nice,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale said nothing, continuing to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair, eliciting a soft, contented hiss from the demon.

After a moment, Crowley’s breathing evened out, indicating that he was almost asleep. A stray lock of hair had fallen across the demon’s face and oh, Aziraphale just couldn’t help himself. He gently brushed it away, fingers lingering on Crowley’s cheek for a moment longer than what would be considered proper.

“Mmm,” Crowley stirred. “Love you, Angel,” he murmured reverently and so quietly Aziraphale certainly would not have heard it if not for his angelic hearing. His hand froze in place near the demon’s temple, those two small, simple words echoing through his head. He … _loved_ him? Surely he couldn’t have meant it. It certainly wasn’t meant for Aziraphale to hear.

The angel stood, starting to back away, but Crowley’s hand was still wrapped almost painfully tightly around his. He was trapped, he realized with abject horror. With Crowley’s hand in his. All night. Or longer. How long did Crowley sleep, anyways? He’d once slept for almost the entirety of the nineteenth century.

“Oh fuck,” the angel cursed.

******

Aziraphale woke with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but lying next to Crowley had been oh so peaceful and he– Crowley. Where was Crowley? Aziraphale squinted, glancing around the lightless room. His hand achingly lacked the presence of Crowley’s fingers entwined with his.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked the dark room.

Perhaps the demon had woken decidedly embarrassed and slipped out so he wouldn’t have to face the angel. Aziraphale felt a pang in his chest at the thought. Speaking of his chest, something was moving under the covers and–

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he threw back the sheets to reveal a large snake coiled on his chest.

“Assssiraphale,” Crowley hissed. “Sssssso warm.” He snuggled closer to the angel, soaking up the angelic heat radiating from his body.

“How are you feeling, dear?”

“Much better.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Mmm.”

It was nice, Aziraphale had to admit, though he was sure he would never say so out loud. He closed his eyes again, secretly relishing in the soft hisses Crowley let out with every breath he took.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and all too soon, Crowley was slithering off Aziraphale, making his way to the other side of the bed where he promptly morphed back into his human form. He must not have moved far enough over—or perhaps he simply did this on purpose—because his human form nearly ended up entirely on top of the angel. Aziraphale and Crowley both froze in place, breaths held. Crowley’s legs were tangled with Aziraphale’s, the entire length of his body pressed painfully close to the angel.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, turning his head slightly to face the demon. “Did you sleep well, my dea–” The angel stopped speaking and a strangled noise escaped from the back of his throat as he realized that they were only mere inches—no, _centimeters_ —away from one another. He could _feel_ Crowley’s soft breath against his face until it stuttered to a stop, the demon’s eyes widening as he stared into the angel’s eyes. If Aziraphale only moved his head an inch, their lips would–

“Ngk,” Crowley said, quickly untangling his legs from the angel’s and rolling over to perch unsteadily on the edge of the bed, back facing the angel so he wouldn’t have to meet his gaze.

Aziraphale’s heart started beating again—he hadn’t even realized it had stopped in the first place.

“Did tea want you?” Aziraphale asked the demon’s back, still in shock and stumbling through his words. He cleared his throat a tad louder than necessary and tried again. “Tea,” he said. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely,” Crowley croaked.

With a soft sigh, Aziraphale reluctantly got out of the bed and headed downstairs and away from Crowley to start the tea. He really didn’t have to _do_ anything to make tea, he simply had to think it, and the kettle would take care of the rest, though this morning, it was a welcome distraction. He simply wasn’t sure if he could control what he said—or _did,_ for that matter—if he would have stayed with Crowley any longer.

 _‘Love you,’_ Crowley’s words echoed in the angel’s mind.

Aziraphale searched through his cabinets until he found a bottle of wine—miraculously, it just so happened to be one of Crowley’s favorites. Aziraphale scowled at the bottle, making sure it wouldn’t hesitate to refill itself as they drank. He hadn’t really cared for tea this morning, anyways, he decided as he found two glasses. Knowing what was best for it, the kettle silently shut itself off.

Aziraphale froze mid-step when he heard the old floorboards creaking behind him.

“’M sorry,” Crowley said quietly.

“No need,” Aziraphale passed the demon a very full glass of wine, trying his best to give him a reassuring smile.

“I– I don’t– It’s all rather fuzzy, I’m afraid,” Crowley admitted. “Hope I didn’t say anything too…strange.”

“No, not at all.” Aziraphale smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If I might ask, what happened?”

“Ah. That,” said Crowley.

“That?”

Crowley grimaced and took a long sip of wine before saying, “Some teenagers from the neighborhood thought it would be funny to mess with me, ‘s all.”

“Mess…with you?” Aziraphale asked, not sure he was hearing correctly.

Crowley sighed. “It’s rather embarrassing, really. Not that interesting.”

“Come, Crowley, it’s just me.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Crowley said, dramatically waving his hands around. “Long story short, they found out I have lots of plants, gave me a gift, turned out to be a prank.”

“A gift,” Aziraphale echoed.

“Yep,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p.’

“And…” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley took another long drink, giving an exasperated sigh just for good measure. “They told me it was for the plants.”

“For the plants?”

“Mm, they said it was a new weed killer.”

“But your plants don’t have weeds.”

“Can never be too careful.”

“Ah, of course,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t about to argue with Crowley—he knew how much his plants meant to him.

“They even helped me set it up. Just a little machine that releases a vapor. Supposedly gets rid of the weeds.”

“Oh, how kind of them.”  
“Oh, real kind,” Crowley said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “By the time I realized what it really was, it was already too late.”

“Too late? What was it, Crowley?”

“It wasn’t weed _killer,_ ” Crowley lamented.

“Well, if it wasn’t weed killer, then what– Oh my. Crowley. You didn’t.”

“How was I to know?”

“ _Crowley_.”

“Nuh. I– Uh– Er–” Crowley said.

“Crowley, you _smoked weed_?!”

“Ngh. I didn’t know what it was, Angel! They told me it was weed _killer._ You know, for _killing weeds._ ”

“Oh good Lord.”

“I didn’t know, Angel,” Crowley whined.

“You were bamboozled by _teenagers,_ ” Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley hissed at him and slunk away into the back room of the bookshop. Aziraphale followed after him, settling down next to him on the couch while making sure to maintain a respectable distance.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped them.

“Eh?”

“How much do you remember? From yesterday, I mean. About what you said.”

Crowley’s eyes widened before he quickly schooled his expression. “Not much, really.”

“Ah.”

“Why?” Crowley asked tentatively. He paused for a moment of consideration before carefully adding, “hear something you like?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley wide-eyed, and Crowley looked right back at him with… _understanding,_ and oh, sweet _Someone_ help him. Crowley _did_ remember more than he was letting on.

Crowley opened his mouth, shut it again. Aziraphale blinked an unnecessary amount of times trying to process everything.

 _‘I really do know what I’m saying, Angel,’_ Crowley’s words from the night before echoed through Aziraphale’s mind. _‘Love you, Angel.’_

He meant it. He really meant it.

“How long?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly.

“Since the beginning,” Crowley admitted sheepishly.

“Since the– My God, why didn’t you say anything?” Aziraphale exclaimed, shock obscuring his features.

“Why didn’t I– Do _you?_ ” Crowley asked.

“Of _course,_ my dear.”

“Really?” Crowley squeaked. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, dear.”

Crowley made a series of unintelligible sounds, only stopping when Aziraphale wrapped his hands around the demons.

“I love you, Crowley,” he said, beaming brighter than all the stars combined. “Oh my, it is lovely to finally admit it.”

Crowley was flummoxed. Flabbergasted. He was– well, he was shocked, really. Six-thousand years. He’d spent _millennia_ loving Aziraphale and suppressing those feelings. Shoving them down so far where they couldn’t be seen by the light of day. And now– Aziraphale had those same feelings, too?

Crowley’s brain was malfunctioning much like a computer showing the same error message over and over. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Hell, he couldn’t _breathe_ —lucky for him he didn’t need to, but still.

“Crowley?” the angel asked, startling the demon from his whirlwind of thoughts and rebooting his brain into some semblance of functioning. Until, that is, the angel impulsively leaned forwards, closing the distance between them in an instant and pressing his soft lips against the demon’s.

Crowley nearly discorporated.

******

Crowley tripped over a stack of books, sending them—and almost himself—sprawling across the floor.

“Mmm, sorry,” he mumbled against Aziraphale’s mouth.

The angel pulled him closer, and with a wave of his hand, the books had miraculously righted themselves back into an organized stack. With another, more discreet gesture, the pathway to his rarely-used bedroom had cleared.

The pair stumbled awkwardly towards the bed, never once breaking their kiss as they went. It was extremely convenient that neither of them actually had to breathe—if such were the case, they likely would have long since suffocated.

At long last, after making their way through the bookshop and stumbling up the stairs to the back rooms, they finally reached Aziraphale’s bed. Crowley thought it might have been quicker had they gone to China. Aziraphale clutched greedily at Crowley’s waist, pulling the demon into his lap as they sat down on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale had never had much use for a bed in the past, but he had a feeling that was about to change.

Crowley started working at the buttons on the angel’s shirt with trembling fingers, golden eyes wide in anticipation.

“Blast,” the demon muttered as he continued to fumble unsuccessfully with the buttons.

“It’s alright, dear,” Aziraphale assured him, gently pulling the demon’s hands away. He pressed a feather-light kiss against Crowley’s fingers before moving to undo the buttons himself. Unfortunately, Aziraphale quickly found that he was suffering from the same predicament as his demonic companion.

“Oh fuck it,” Aziraphale muttered.

“What was that, Angel?” Crowley asked, eyes blown wide in shock that _his_ Angel had just _cursed_ —and it had only served to delight him even more, if that was at all possible.

Aziraphale ignored the demon’s question, and with a snap of his fingers, both his and Crowley’s shirts disappeared. Of course, Crowley would later find that they had been neatly folded and placed on top of Aziraphale’s dresser.

The demon blinked, all rational thought leaving him, and he gently pushed Aziraphale down until the angel was on his back. Crowley leaned down, pressing his lips to the angel’s jaw and, to Aziraphale’s surprise, the demon _licked_ his way down his neck and across his chest.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. “What are yo– Oh! Oh my!”

“Is this okay?” Crowley asked, leaning back and looking a bit like a kicked puppy, worried that he’d done something wrong.

“Oh yes, dear. _Yes_ ,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley grinned before continuing to work his way down the angel’s stomach, reveling in the way he wriggled underneath him.

“Oh Angel,” Crowley gasped against his soft, angelic skin. “You smell _marvelous_.” Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed an adorably dark shade of red.

“You sure you’re alright, Angel?”

“Tickety-boo,” Aziraphale said weakly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Oh good Lord, Crowley, do get on with it. I just never imagined we’d actually _do_ this”

“Do what?” Crowley teased, pressing closer to the angel.

Aziraphale gently pulled the demon up to press his lips against his.

“Angel, we’ve got all the time in the world,” Crowley reminded him.

“All the time,” Aziraphale echoed.

“Eternity.”

“Forever.”

“Always.”

Crowley lowered himself down between the angel’s legs and across his stomach. He let out a long sigh as he snaked his arms around Aziraphale, nuzzling into the angel’s neck. Aziraphale’s hands found their way to the demon’s hair, affectionately running through it over and over, eliciting small sighs from Crowley.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered into the demon’s ear.

Crowley let out a soft hiss. Aziraphale almost dared to say it was an affectionate hiss. This, of course, would be impossible. Everyone knew that serpents—and demons, for that matter—were quite wily creatures, as a certain angel might say. Although some may argue this situation just may have been the exception.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered after a moment, only to find that the demon’s eyes had shut and he was fast asleep, his soft breaths ghosting across the angel’s face.

Aziraphale smiled and let out a contented sigh. He could certainly get used to this for all of eternity.


End file.
